


tactile afferents

by trailingviolets



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alien!Kylo, Alien/Human Relationships, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hand & Finger Kink, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, body shielding, freeform District 9 au, human!rey, misunderstood empath Kylo, touch starved Kylo
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-06-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 05:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,244
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23919961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trailingviolets/pseuds/trailingviolets
Summary: Rey's the owner of a failed metaphysical supply store. Kylo's a shoplifting alien. Though curious about each other, they can't touch.*District 9 au
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo | Kylo Ren
Comments: 159
Kudos: 177
Collections: Reylo Hidden Gems





	1. apotropaic magic

Rey was always a dreamer.

Studying quantum physics for years after college, hoping to discover a planet where she belonged. Except her research was cut short after first contact.

Once the government realized that aliens weren’t hostile but disadvantaged, able to be shot out of the sky. 

Of course humanitarian organizations did everything to help. On the surface. 

Ignoring risk factors for violence, the survivors were separated hundreds of miles apart. Indentured to host families with no common language. Most died within the year, ran away or got shot.

The ones left are easily spotted, non-threatening and weak. Identifiable by their protective clothing to prevent touch. So they won’t feel the fear of their human hosts, nor the curiosity of skeptics like Rey. 

\---

After she made a simple plan. Open a metaphysical supply store, help others. Only no one wants crystals now that the universe is explicable, conquered. Especially in a deserted coal town.

So Rey languishes until she forgets there are days to the weeks. She waits for years, for anyone to walk through the door. 

Anyone but an alien.

\---

He’s breathless, panting hard from the heat. Refusing eye contact though she’s sympathetic, ready to offer a cup of water. All those black layers, the works: hoodie, denim, flaky leather gloves. 

He gives a sharp nod, making a beeline towards the sales section. Where Rey hasn’t dusted or restocked inventory in months, if not years. Only the alien doesn’t notice, with how taken he is by the display.

The CCTV's broken so Rey hangs over the counter, curious to see what he does next. In an unprecedented show of nerve, the alien grabs something heavy from the rack. Not to buy but to steal, secreting it away in a hidden pocket. 

What did she expect? The rumors must be true; most of them hate humans and only want to cause trouble for them. It makes sense, though somewhere deep it also hurts, bitter and unexpected.

Quietly, Rey takes her wooden yardstick down from the wall.

“Did you find everything okay?” she asks.

“Yes, I did.” Though it’s barely an answer she feels the fear underneath, the awkwardness and hesitation. It’s enough to make her ask again. One last chance to come clean.

“You sure?”

“I am,” he says. So be it.

Rey lunges fast, almost knocking him against the wall. Only he’s expectant, poised for an attack. Ducking and evading the blow out of practice. 

He sprints for the door, making it outside before she can try again. In a burst of energy Rey jumps the counter, chasing him into the driveway and field beyond, yardstick in hand. Limping hard, hot jabs of pain radiating from her ankle. 

Luckily the alien’s in worse shape, malnourished and slowed by the heat. The funeral attire doesn't help. Rey gets close enough to crack him across the back and he trips, chin connecting with the dirt. 

When he tries to stand she swings again with all her force. The yardstick splinters in half against his side and he shouts, curling tight.

“Look at me,” she says. “You can’t just take whatever you want.”

“Please-”

“No please. Show your face.” 

Underneath the hood his eyes are sad. Probably he was pretty, most of the humanoids are. Except sometime yesterday he caught a black eye, a belt mark across his face. Rey knows that pattern; it’s from getting struck around the corner of a door. 

Someone at home wanted him hurt. Not just in the moment but for days, possibly until next time. The hoodie falls back as the alien moves to brace, arms covering his head in surrender. 

Rey steps back, chest tight. Whatever happened, she’s only made it worse for him. 

“Go,” she says. “Drop it and run.” He does, stumbling into the woods. 

For a long while after Rey stands frozen, unable to look. Feeling fresh air for the first time in weeks, hearing birdsong. It's hard to account for time other than through a long string of empty, drunken nights.

Finally she goes to pick up what he dropped.

It’s one of her dreamcatchers, a real one. Not for nightmares but as apotropaic magic, to ward off evil influence.

\---

The next day he’s back. Walking straight to the counter where she sits, drinking her breakfast. Shaking, he sets down a wad of dollar bills, lips moving wordless. 

“I’m sorry,” he says at last. “I behaved...incorrectly.” 

It’s not an accent so much as a tic, the propriety. It’s a telltale giveaway he has no friends, not around here. Or else he wouldn’t sound so formal.

“You can just say the first part. It’s okay.”

“Sorry,” he says again. “For my actions.”

“I believe you.” Rey’s conflicted, troubled by the way his face is healing. No one’s bothered to provide aftercare, not even a clean towel for the dirt. Nothing.

He trembles, shifting from foot to foot. Shivering in the A/C, despite the flaky, falling apart leather gloves, the hoodie pulled tight over his hair. 

“I had some money saved, I just got nervous. I promise, it’s me. My fault.”

For the first time Rey takes in her surroundings. The sagging popcorn ceiling, the dust. The faded posters and mug of Olde English sitting on the countertop.

“Come with me for a sec?” she says, gesturing to his face. "You probably thought this place was abandoned."

\---

“Don’t touch,” he reminds softly. They’re in the back office, an expired first aid kit disassembled on her desk.

The room's bare of anything but bills, organized in order of urgency. 

“I won’t,” she says. “I know the deal.”

Pulling on the kit's sterile gloves, Rey washes his face. Taking care to be gentle when he whimpers, slipping from her grip. She meant what she did and it shows. The wound's deep.

As an apology she spreads antibiotic ointment over the infected belt mark. Giving him a heavy tube of scar cream from her purse, though it’s expensive, rarely in stock at the pharmacy.

“Use that every day and it won’t be there forever.”

“Thank you,” he says, looking away. Rey feels the shame in what goes unsaid but doesn’t push it.

She’s buzzed, nine o'clock on a Tuesday. Now isn’t the time for deep-seated trauma and its meaning.

The container snaps shut, the gloves come off. Rey shows him to the front, pulling the dreamcatcher from behind the counter. 

“No charge,” she says. “Protect you from that asshole.”

“Snoke? He’s my host.” 

_He’s a parasite_ , Rey thinks. There’s so much more the alien's holding onto, though what comes out is brief.

“I’m a burden. He’s more than patient.”

“Did you research protective magic?” she asks. He shakes his head.

“Snoke kept saying that word 'dreamcatcher' about aliens. He said it’s a book. So I wanted to see one. It’s beautiful, I didn't expect that."

Rey’s hands clench on the counter. _Dreamcatcher, Ripley._ She’s heard the slurs. But to apply them to such a soft, different man. None of them were bloodthirsty, just exhausted from running away. 

“Did you choose the blue by chance? It means shielding, shyness, and survivor's instinct. Pretty apt.”

“Oh.” His gloved hand reaches out, snatching the dreamcatcher away. “No, I knew this one was mine. It’s the energy in your store, I was drawn to it.”

“So what's the energy?” she asks.

He backs away, still unsure, but wanting to make amends by telling the truth. They stare at each other as he opens the door. Maybe then Rey knows it's not for the last time.

“Loneliness,” he says.

\---


	2. quarters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw: implied abuse/self harm if you squint

Whiskey makes for better research. Usually Rey browses Wikipedia until she passes out, switching between featured articles and the bottle. Tonight she’s back on her old JSTOR account, reading about alien touch.

The root problem is tactile afferents. At least that’s the best guess. Aliens are acute empaths, feeling so much it’s a source of existential pain. 

Most aren’t overstimulated by proximity alone, like Rey. It’s more complicated than that. Human emotions act as corrosives, needing a surface to work. Usually transference is due to skin to skin contact. 

Which still doesn’t explain why she cares.

\---

The curiosity gets to her by Friday. For the first time she's outside with the day shift. Baring her teeth as they walk past, hoping it's a smile.

Sunlight hurts so she starts in the library where most of the rejects go. Even her old corner is empty. Same with the pharmacy and the dollar store.

She finds him unexpectedly at the laundromat. Bent over, scraping quarters from underneath the dryers. 

Rey waits in the doorway until he looks up, shame palpable. She stops laughing when his stare hits back from the floor, eyes trained on hers.

The feeling alights as a paralyzing ache. Strong enough that she tastes his deprivation, waiting for years to be held.

So desperate to be noticed that even derision feels good. If that's all she has to give, he still wants more. 

The misery of it crawls inside her chest like a cry for help. Leaving her guilty, aching for the soft brush of his soul. 

Then she blinks. 

Rey moves first, stepping back into the alley. Hating how stupid she must look, eyes blown in shock. When everybody warned her sideways: don’t touch the alien.

Only they weren’t touching, not even remotely.

“What the fuck," she says. 

“We made eye contact." 

“Is it that delicate? One look and you’re inside me?” Embarrassment works its magic until he huffs, sitting back on his heels to explain.

“There’s no ‘inside’. You were with me in spirit. It’s called empathy. Maybe if you weren’t so pent up-”

“So now I'm sensitive." 

“When was the last time someone touched you?”

“About two hundred years ago, when I was raised from the crypt.”

“Exactly,” he stops, relenting. “Sorry.” 

“Sorry is not an all occasion thing.” It comes out harsher than intended. The alien’s mouth twists, moving wordless. 

“Should I go?” he asks at last. 

“No, stay. I don't have laundry.”

“Of course,” he says, then. “Me neither. We're not allowed.”

This is the third close encounter they’ve had without making progress. It's not in her to try again. 

If she was a good person it wouldn't even be a choice. Leave him to the broken vending machine, or spare the alien lunch. 

“Are you that hungry?” she asks. Moreover, “What do you eat?”

\---

Even with an answer like _anything_ Rey struggles to find food in her apartment. There’s an expired carton of milk gone solid, a block of cheese mummified in cellophane. 

She offers him the last beer, only to have it declined.

“Can’t. Makes me act out.” 

“Me too,” Rey says lightly, pouring it for herself. “Arguably the best part.”

All the while she looks he stands stock still, hands folded over the front of his jeans. Eyes searching the empty, cracked walls for portraits, for any trace of a home or even a person. 

Rey's confident he finds none. 

She tries the freezer last, scavenging homemade lasagna from eons ago. It’s still fresh, fragrant with basil when she opens the container. Instantly she has his attention. 

Rey dishes the entire serving for him, hot out of the microwave. Complete with a used pair of chopsticks she finds on the counter. Not bothering to explain why there are leftovers in the butter container and butter sitting out on a plate.

Once he starts eating it’s difficult to look away. She knows it’s more than a favor by how fast he wolfs everything down, scared to breathe. 

"I don't mind seeing your face," she says. "If the hood's bugging you."

The fabric falls soft over his hair, eyes lowered and neutral. As he takes the last bite he nods in Rey’s direction, thanking her wordlessly. 

She tries not to get lost, not to stare when he's so open. It's something dangerous like a trap, always between them. 

“Tell me your name,” she says to deflect.

“It's not spoken.” He smiles at her expression. “We use touch, like this.” 

He leans in close. Hesitating over the pulse at her temple, asking permission. At last caressing a line down Rey's jaw, stroking her neck. The gloves smell like old leather, lived in and warm.

“That’s mine,” he says. “But it’s Kylo, if you’re Snoke.”

“I’m not,” she says quickly.

“Then I’m sure I’ll like hearing you say it.” 

“Does he always hit?” she asks.

“If I’m not fast enough.” 

She thinks of the alien running hard, taking refuge in the woods. Often but not always. Sometimes, because of the bulky clothes, he's caught. 

"Walk you back?" she asks. 

\---

Rey shows him a shortcut through the woods. In the privacy of the forest Kylo still looks down, shoulders hunched. 

As they drift closer she smells his body, knowing he’s sweat through the armpits of the hoodie. Do aliens get heatstroke? It's ninety fucking degrees. 

“You can take that off," she says, gesturing. "Nobody comes here.”

“I stink."

“You do.” His eyes snap to hers, averting at the last moment. Rey laughs, not spitefully but tender, wistful. “Now you’re afraid of me.”

“You’re afraid of me.” 

“Am I?” she asks. Picking a sunny spot to stand between the trees, blocking his path. “Stop here, rest for a second. You'll faint, and you're too heavy to drag."

Furtively he puts his hand on the zipper.

"Do it."

"I am." The gloves come off first, finger by finger.

Rey looks away, overcome with intrusive desire. To put them on and touch her face like he did.

She stares as Kylo shucks the hoodie, petrified of her reaction. Underneath he's naked, sinewed muscle. Built big but underfed, glaringly pale. Whipped to hell all over his back. 

Rey refuses to flinch. 

Leading him to a boulder where she often lies topless, lost in thought. Sitting still so long sometimes birds land next to her, curious of the new face. 

"Please be seated," she says, mocking him. 

Slowly, looking over his shoulder, Kylo climbs onto the rock. Eyes closing, he's asleep within minutes. 

He trusts her, maybe mistakenly. To watch over him for now. 

She does. 

Rey watches every moment. She hasn't been this close to anyone in so long, it's thrilling. He's a real person with eyelashes, dimples and freckles and scars. Hair under his arms that doesn't reek but smells earthy, spicy and sweet. 

She breathes deep. It must be an alien thing. 

After a while his muscles tense, not waking up to her but dreaming, lost in a nightmare. 

The worst ones for her are during the day, too. Not hazy and half-remembered but disorientingly vivid. Rey shakes and cries like he does, begging to go home. 

Without thinking she lays a hand on his arm. 

_Stabbing heartsick rejection. Snapping his wrists until they bleed, biting his tongue. Unbearably hot nights. So far from sleep on the cement floor, Snoke's voice permeating everything, over and over saying -_

"What's wrong with you?"

Rey grimaces, tears running down her cheeks. 

"I'm sorry," she says. "I didn't want you to suffer-"

"Don't look at me like that. Like I'm dangerous."

"I'm looking at you like you're human."

"Bullshit."

She knows he's embarrassed but there's no remedy for it. Rey sucks at offering comfort. So she sits by, watching him put on his hoodie and gloves. Sniffling, desperate for answers. 

"Don't follow me," he says. 

"I'm not." Yet her feet stand, running to his side. Before he can block she offers something wrapped in newspaper from her pocket.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. 

"Take it." He does. She hopes it's not a weird present. Maybe he'll find a way to get an explanation. 

Or maybe it'll lead him to her again. 

He starts walking away in earnest, cradling the gift with both hands. Rey watches silent, until she remembers, and how is it possible he still doesn't know-

"I'm Rey!" she shouts. 

No response. 

\---


	3. the napkin

Opening the shop was Rey’s natural reaction to being broken. The same as becoming a researcher. Trying to fix her own damage, so she never had to ask for help. 

Of course it doesn’t work like that.

Her ankle _hurts_. She’s lucky to be stranded in the middle of nowhere, or else there would be more opportunity for self medication. Rey knows not to put it past herself, becoming an addict. 

It’s always something, to distract from the truth of an empty life.

What she’s addicted to for the next several days is the rock. Sunning for hours, picturing him just there. Reachable, vulnerable. It’s almost as good as being together, because either way they can’t touch.

\---

Now that she’s paying attention, the propaganda’s everywhere. It drives her crazy not to rip the flyers from the telephone poles. Crude drawings of disease-ridden, slavering monsters, abducting women or looting banks.

Like with every sci-fi movie, Rey self-inserts as the abductee. 

Finally taking out the recycling. Clearing the table of junk mail, emptying the trash. Sweeping the floor for half an hour, finding hair ties, coupons she thought she lost.

Doing everything possible to avoid the inevitable google search. 

_Do aliens have sex?_

The answer is a firm yes. Touch-based extraterrestrials view intercourse as sacred, commencing a deep bond between souls. 

How enlightened they must be.

For Rey sex is interchangeable with a decent dildo, possibly because she spends the whole experience outside her body. 

Trying not to see or hear what’s going on. Removed from the other person at a vague, passive distance. It’s a means to an end, a necessary evil to quell the awful, pent up rages she goes into otherwise. 

Not the special magic of stories, and nothing like she was promised by alternative healing. Except apparently aliens heal each other through orgasms.

That’s where the discourse ends for Rey, slamming her laptop shut. Unreal. 

There should be laws against clickbait. 

Outside there’s not a soul on the street, no one to object or bear witness. Through her blinds is the full moon, part of everything uncharted. 

People were wrong to give up when so much is still unknown. In fifty years, humans will be the aliens seeking refuge from climate change.

Quietly, Rey starts her computer back up. Taking care to open an incognito tab before pulling up her favorite, the only porn she can stand. 

Onscreen two men fistfight in a facsimile of war. Slowly, completely the weaker one loses, taking dozens of fake punches. Falling to the floor until he’s beaten. 

Except the girl doesn’t choose the winner. She rushes to the injured boy’s side, possessed. They’re both naked but she curls over him, preventing the killing blow. 

Then they kiss, and it’s everything Rey’s heart desires. Chaste and tender and connected. She can taste their enthusiasm through time. 

Probably they were a couple. 

She slumps against the wooden chair, fingers itching. Slowly, sensually preparing another shot which she takes off the table, biting down on the burn. Tequila is the best kept secret of adulthood.

Slipping out of her pajama shorts, Rey unpauses the video. Fingering herself fast to catch up with the best part. 

How he doesn’t dive into her pussy but kneels, giving the girl his mouth and hands to use. She does, taking her time. Ordering him to lick and suck and penetrate at once. So quiet and calm it’s eerily, uncomfortably hot. She never loses control, even in the throes of coming.

Except narrowly, Rey’s forced to tap out. 

It’s been like this for months. Frustrating the shit out of her until she can’t even sit still with the ache between her legs. One long, tedious tease and denial. 

Closing her eyes, Rey reaches for inspiration. Not from the alien but his pain.

Picturing the laundromat, glossing over the dialogue to what was going on inside her head. 

Accessing his morass of feelings, all incomplete, jumbled or inappropriate. Angst, fear of the dark. Starving and needing to piss, back stinging like a live wire. Sweat dripping down his cuts.

Staring at her across the counter, reliving the unbearable pang of what he can’t have.

Rey comes hard _._ Rocking against the table on the chair’s back legs, grinding against her fingers. Buried deep, soaking the wood when she pulls out. 

The laptop’s dark. So is the street.

Rey's back where she started. Alone and in denial. Unable to admit how obsessed she is, not even to an empty room. 

The aftershocks turn to sobs until she’s doubled over, grateful for the clean, cool floor to rub her cheek on. Wishing, fantasizing Kylo’s name. 

\---

After, she reaches for something to wipe the chair with.

Only her napkin’s gone. Red and black plaid, checkered in pattern but also with smudges. It’s always lived right there, folded over the corner of the table. 

_You can’t just take what you want._

The thought makes her go weak. 

That such a discarded, faded thing acted as a talisman, calling to him. If she’s learned anything about healing it’s that people are drawn to what they need.

The longer she thinks, the more it's abundantly clear. 

\---

Rey bikes to the estate the next day.

There he is, in front of Snoke’s ruined mansion. Picking at a can of cat food, sitting cross-legged in the gravel. Knees scraped raw, head obscured by the hoodie.

“Psst,” she shouts, but he’s already looking. “Come here.” 

At first he tries to ignore her and Rey’s stomach drops. Then angrily, deliberately, he runs towards the bushes. 

Squatting in the hedge, she offers him a steaming tupperware of beef stew. Sometimes it’s a warm meal that matters most, even in the dead of summer. 

Rey knows; for years she ate straight from the can, too.

“Try it,” she begs. “Quick, Kylo.” 

He doesn’t speak but takes it, digging in. Communicating his gratitude at such kindness, but also saying- 

“You shouldn’t be here,” as levelly as possible.

“I know,” she says. It’s not enough. She’ll have to cough up the truth, even if it’s shameful to admit. “You shouldn’t take other people’s things.”

“I’m not a klepto.”

“Okay-”

“I just like touching your stuff.”

“I gave you something to touch,” she says. “For that purpose.”

"Your lips were on the napkin."

"Shut up," Rey tells him, though it's so good she blushes. "Do you have questions about what I gave you?"

“What does it mean?” he asks at last. 

“ _What comes together belongs together._ ”

“I don’t feel that.” He sighs, eyes drifting up. “I looked up the properties of the stone. Unakite.”

His breath's on her neck and Rey wants to cry. At any moment they could be sought out or separated. There’s no time to explain everything the gift meant.

Except it's there in his smile. How Kylo touches the necklace, bringing it out from under his hoodie. Tracing it through the gloves with delicate fingers. 

“There’s so much of you in it, Rey. All your pain.”

“What did you keep it for, then?” she asks, wounded. “If it only hurts.”

“I touch this and it's like I’m a losing army, everything’s wrong and I hate myself for being weak. I _w_ _ant_ to feel it. I can fix it.”

“No one can fix anyone.”

"You of all people," he says but doesn't finish. "You put the stone on your ankle."

"How did you know?"

"Everything you touch is attached to you in some ancillary way."

"Give me back my napkin, then."

"Not happening." Rey shifts, knowing he's dead serious. Her legs ache from kneeling, branches clawing her t-shirt and bare arms. 

_Give me back my sanity,_ she thinks abruptly. 

Kylo searches her face but she doesn't dare look back. Not here. It's worse than a crowded room.

"What are you thinking?" he asks. 

"What are you?"

"Thank you," he says softly. "Just that."

"Come over for dinner," she tells him, finally sure. "I'm thinking of what to make for dessert."

"Okay, I'll be there." 

They don't touch or speak any more about it. Carefully Rey stands and runs from the yard, taking off on her bike. Stopping at a safe distance to see him return to the driveway, head cast down. 

Clutching her necklace to his chest. 

\---


	4. no poker face

Rey panics the entire afternoon.

Making the apartment presentable is a lost cause. The same goes for dessert. At this point, she knows not to expect miracles.

Still, it’s an impulse Rey can’t shake. The need to save face, even for one night. 

Padding downstairs in her towel, hair wet. Borrowing dozens of crystal suncatchers from the store display to cover the windows and dingy walls.

By golden hour her apartment’s pooled in light, far more inviting than it was hours before. Even with the smell from the kitchen, Rey's incense and the newly cleaned floor. 

For the first time, she’s proud of the building. Given where she’s been, it’s not a bad place to end up.

Only he doesn’t show.

Being stood up wouldn't normally merit a breakdown. Except in the moment she’s distraught with worry. 

Pacing, tripping over her own feet. Drying her eyes with pulls straight from the bottle. Finally letting it put her to sleep, only to have the same awful, recurring nightmare.

_She’s the girl from the porn. Except putting her body over Kylo isn’t enough, and he’s struck dead._

Rey spends the week catastrophizing, picturing every possibility in vivid detail. Going through the motions until there’s nothing left to vent about, even if she had friends. 

Coming to the conclusion that there’s no mystery, no one to blame. She just wasn’t good enough.

\---

Rey's just getting used to the silence when he reappears. 

Crawling to her like a vision, blood trickling down his nose. Hoodie unzipped because they’re alone in the forest. 

Pointing, she offers her discarded tank top and the last of the flask. 

“Hot today,” she says, eyes straight ahead. “Worse than before.” 

At the sound of her voice, Kylo bursts out crying. 

Immediately Rey sits up. Covering her tits with an arm, gesturing until he takes the shirt, eyes on the ground. 

Tears drip down his chin and his voice cracks, trying to talk. 

“Sorry,” he says softly. “I’m bleeding all over.”

“It’s okay, press on it.” 

“Alright. Thank you.” 

Rey works on what to say. Watching him gulp whiskey out of thirst, throat burning in sympathy. Staring at a shiner she can’t seem to process. With every glance it hurts more.

“Want to talk about it?” she asks.

“Snoke doesn’t appreciate my taste in reading.”

“Did you steal a book?”

“Not from him," he says carefully.

“From who?” 

“You.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“I’m sorry,” he says. Then in a rush, “I don’t get anything about this planet. Please don’t be mad, I just wanted to learn-”

“Why would I be mad at _you_? How can you even think that?”

“Because it’s my fault.” For him it's still so simple, just a matter of taking the blame.

“No, it’s not.”

Of that she’s sure, above all. Only he’s unconvinced. Shifting uncomfortably, fist clenched over the flask. She waits, arms crossed over her chest.

“It was a romance novel,” he says at last. 

_One of her romance novels._

“Which?” she asks softly.

“A Walk to Remember. You highlighted in it.”

“Alright,” Rey tells him. “Since you stole it. It’s not Shakespeare but it’s _deep._ When I was younger I had a lot to learn about compassion.”

“But you learned it."

"I guess," she says. "Come sit." 

He shuffles across the rock, all ripped jeans and legs. Rey spots her napkin stuffed in a pocket, drenched with sweat. 

After what's been so long, they're a breath away. No room for doubt.

"What did you want to know?" she asks. 

"About human culture." He reddens. "Whether you fall in love."

"And?"

"Same as us. Only once." 

Rey reaches for a gloved hand. Tracing it from his forehead, dipping under the hoodie to brush his neck. Forbidden to touch but grateful for a loophole, a way to call him by name. 

When she looks back Kylo's lost, forgetting for the briefest second to avert his eyes.

The pain there is endless. Only it's malleable now that Rey's trying. Heavy but able to be lifted. 

For a moment, she takes it all away.

Replacing his misery with a stab of pleasure. Taken straight from the thought of how he poured over the yellow lines, memorizing her favorite parts.

Kylo blinks on purpose then, flinching back. Eyes screwed shut. Panting through gritted teeth, saying-

"Don't do that."

"Why not?" 

"It feels good."

\---

"How much longer do you have?" she asks. 

"About an hour, before he notices."

"Then rest." He falls asleep before the sun cuts through the trees. 

Rey does her best with the alcohol to clean his back and face. It's still not enough. She longs to take him home to hide, buried in her threadbare sheets. 

"You'll be okay," she says, smoothing back the hood.

It's such a blatant lie. Like all the other times, she's sending him back to Snoke. 

"I'll protect you," she tries instead, so sure. At least that sounds true. 

\---

They plan to meet at midnight on the roof of Rey's apartment. This time he's early, climbing the fire escape to stand before her like death. 

"Finally you blend in," she says of the outfit. 

Now Rey's prepared to offer first aid. Getting out a clean pair of nitrile gloves, neosporin, bandages and iodine. Sighing when he tries to put everything on at once. 

“You are not handling this yourself.” 

“Neither are you.”

“Fine. Then do me a favor and hold your hair back.”

“Is it too long?”

“No, it’s nice,” she says too fast. No poker face.

“Thank you,” he tells her. "...yours as well."

They’re silent after that. It's better for Rey’s concentration. She does everything possible to stay on task, even humming the alphabet. Except it’s dark outside and she can finally touch. The temptation's too strong.

“What are you doing?” 

“I’m fixing your necklace.” 

“I think it’s still crooked,” he says when she pulls away. 

“Okay,” Rey breathes. “Let me try again.” 

This time she's thorough. Unzipping the hoodie inch by inch. Stroking the hair covering his chest, his stomach as she goes. Drifting lower until Kylo bites his lip, staring at her nipples through the nightdress.

“What’s wrong?” she asks.

“Touch me-”

“I am.” 

“ _More_.” 

At that Rey hikes up the fabric, straps falling down her shoulders—

At that she climbs into his lap, saying, "more?" like it's a question. 

Panic strikes as their hips meet. Rey fights every second not to disengage. Grinding on his jeans, staring at their bodies together.

Willing to do anything to feel as much as he does, if only for a moment. To be in the moment. 

“I hate underwear," she tells him. 

"But you're not wearing any."

The look on his face knocks Rey sideways. So full and broken at once, realizing what that means. 

"Neither are you," she says.

Kylo holds still at that, shoulders tight. Trying to will his erection away. 

"Finger me?" Right now she's not above asking. She has no idea how to show tact, act gracefully or drop hints. "It's the closest we can get."

“This is already too far. If I hurt you-”

“You won’t.”

Truly, she can’t know that. Maybe they’ll be torn apart at the seams. Watching him take off the leather gloves with his teeth is already proving enough. Reluctantly she hands over the clean nitrile ones. 

From then on Rey isn't allowed to touch. It's torture.

Watching his plastic fingers bury inside her, hot and crooked and tear-jerking.

"Kylo," she says. "Please, _please_ fuck me."

He tries. Making two knuckles feel big, looking on rapt as she tenses and moans and flails. 

Knowing to wait until she's coiled up around him, hands gripping hard on the hoodie. 

"Will you come for me?" he begs. 

Rey does. She comes everywhere, gushing so hard it patterns the cement. Surprising herself, blushing deep. So happy with him it hurts. 

Only his eyes are closed, screwed shut in the same pain as before. Overstimulated, reaching for balance. 

Except this time it's too much. 

He groans under his breath and Rey feels his lap go warm. Sticky and hot. 

"Oh my god," she says. "Did you just squirt?"

Kylo shrinks small, face turned sharply away. Nodding once before standing and bolting. She catches him by the belt just at the edge of the fire escape, ankle burning. 

He's still wearing the nitrile gloves, wet with her cum.

"It's okay," she says. "You're an alien. I don't understand but I'll try, if you help me-"

"It's not something I can control. I'm sorry and it's gross and it _hurts_." 

"I can get you off. I can lick it up-"

"No," he says. It's so harsh she almost pulls back. Except for the sadness in his voice, the tears. "I'd never ask you to break the law."

As he leaves Rey remembers. What they just did was illegal, punishable by death. 

Yet now she knows it's only a matter of time before it happens again. 

\---


	5. know thyself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> see the endnotes for triggers.

_Love—you can’t see it but you can feel it._

Kylo goes over the quote a hundred times, back hurting on the cement floor. Touching the lines infested with longing, highlighted and circled and annotated. 

On the flyleaf Rey took down dates. Tallying birthdays spent alone, years that passed in direct succession. Starting at age ten. 

He clutches the book to his chest, smelling it, resting his head on it like a pillow. Trying to soak up by osmosis the fading organic sense of her, elbows and fingers and tears. 

Earlier he was bullied by Snoke who held his dinner just out of reach. Giving the can a hard kick across the room, amused by its frantic retrieval. 

While he eats he wonders about Rey's meal. The one he missed. Daydreaming at length, trying to guess what she made for dessert.

Maybe warm pears and ice cream. Chocolate cookies, peanut butter dates or mulled wine. If he begged for a hated dish Rey would indulge him, knowing instinctively to be gracious. In her eyes he's anything but a charity case.

Kylo's never been that, someone to impress.

Snoke's still talking, annoyed at going unacknowledged. Retreating, stomping up the cellar stairs. He does this six or seven times a day, up and down. 

“I understand it's expensive,” Kylo tries. "I just like human food.”

At his audacity Snoke freezes. Delivering the rare advice because he's told he doesn't deserve any-

"Stop obsessing over what you can't have."

\---

Like always it escalates into a losing fight. Kylo curses getting cornered again. It's just so hard to think when he's scared, barraged emotionally by hot, perilous anger. 

He doesn't want to absorb that poison, and it takes everything to shut it out. 

The effort leaves him prone on the floor, tears tracking into his hair. So embarrassed to be at the mercy of someone else's feelings.

In the moment he admits to needing Rey, to resisting her before not out of pride but shame. Now he doesn't think he can sink any lower. 

It’s a short walk through the woods. Scaling the rickety stairs to the screen door, to the antiquated beige doorbell.

To half-naked, tipsy Rey, shining a flashlight in his burning eyes. 

\---

"Rough night," she says, hanging back. Noting the physical damage first, the holes and dings in his clothes. "Three weeks. I figured you were dead."

He's skinnier than before, weaker. Yet still big-boned, awkwardly made. Much too heavy to carry. 

So she hauls an arm over her back, letting the rest of his body sag. They end up piled on the kitchen floor, curtains ripped down from when she tried to use them as a handhold. 

When Rey pulls back his hoodie, the skin underneath is a horror. 

"Get away," he says, failing to push her back. “Go put on gloves.”

"Why?"

"I have no energy to protect you.”

"Ask me if I care.”

"You should."

"I don't." 

To prove it Rey does as practiced, seizing his face in her bare hands. Fingers carding over cuts and bruises until she falls backwards to the floor, coughing and retching. 

It hurts so bad she's on fire. 

Several minutes pass unannounced. As long as it takes to register that her palms are fine. Kylo still isn't, but whatever she did helped. There's color in his cheeks, warmth in his bloodless, chapped lips. 

Rey paws towards him on all fours, grateful for the shock of the cold linoleum. Still dizzy from exertion, buzz rapidly wearing off. 

"I told you-" 

"Get this," she snaps, falling over his chest. "I'm fine. I lived. I don't need you to protect me."

"What about next time?"

"Next time we'll look at each other, or fist bump, or whatever. Find ways to make it less intense."

"I don't see how. _You're_ intense."

"Then we'll go slow. We can do this, you can live here-"

"You'll host me?" 

And this is not a conversation she hoped to have while staring at the ceiling. Any other healer would have advanced to magical orgasms by now.

Except it's shitty, useless Rey and her depression. Up against the worst of human nature. Abuse, degradation, frankly inexcusable ignorance. There are classes on aliens. Seminars for free.

"You can't go back there. He won't stop."

"How can you be sure?"

"I want you and he's provoked by that. It's a cycle. _Neither of us can stop._ So stay. Be safe here."

It takes all of five seconds before she feels his relief, diffused like particles in the air. It's clumsy out in the open, brittlely unsure.

Until she catches it, sending her own back in return. Recognizing that between them there's a thread, a channel of communion.

Through it she projects every cautious hope. Reiterating how worried she's felt in a sharp jab of anguish. 

"You do want me here," he says.

\---

Of course this was plan A. Find a way to keep him close.

Not that Rey prepared for it well. All she was able to do was practice, psyching herself up to perform emotional first aid. 

Reading books laden with cobwebs, searching the store and the internet for answers. Dubious of making an improbable breakthrough, of forcing Kylo to fold.

Except she sort of did. 

The hard part is reasoning with a naked man who can't be touched. 

Kylo claims her bathtub is the most comfortable bed he's ever had, asking to sleep there. Brushing off her reservations with the catchall _I'm alien_.

"Suit yourself," Rey tells him. In solidarity she sprawls out on the worn tile. Waking at four in the morning to his muted shivering.

To his softly whispered, "I'm sorry."

Kylo has no other clothes than the ones soaked with blood, discarded on the toilet seat. So Rey wraps him in a flannel sheet, laughing at how it shapes into a toga. 

Bringing up pictures on her laptop of Socrates until he cracks a smile, looking sheepishly away. 

"But he was handsome," he tries. 

"So are you." 

Now she's sure of the reason he squirted so quickly, and so much. Poor alien women; it wouldn't fit otherwise. 

"Rey-" 

"It's okay if you know how I feel," she says, "But please, please don't announce it."

She drinks in his warm blush, forced to keep silent. Struggling to assimilate the fact that she thinks he's hot, and has a nice cock. 

After he requires multiple reality checks, grabbing playfully at her hands. Desisting only when reminded not to place them on his body. 

They make it to the bedroom where Rey gives a dismissive wave, gesturing to the twin sized mattress she’s had since middle school. At least the duvet is fresh.

"Voilà," she says. "All yours."

"Why not ours?"

"Because look at it. Are we going to get on there without touching? It's like the _Titanic_ door. One of us has to go overboard."

"Just wrap me up. Easy."

In the end Rey does, blanking on a better idea. Mindful of his back, the myriad scars she hasn't yet treated. It's too tender for alcohol, too awful for the expired Midol in her closet.

Empathy will have to be enough.

\---

Struggling to fit they curl together, Kylo effectively immobile, mummified in a cocoon of sheets.

“By morning those crystals will be beautiful,” Rey tells him, pointing through the doorway. “And I’ll stand right there and make you cupcakes.”

“For dessert?”

“For breakfast,” she says. “Now go to sleep.”

"One more look," Kylo whispers, breath hot on her cheek. "Please, for the pain?"

In this she excels. Staring up at him so he can't flinch, ebbing and ebbing everything away. 

The books all instructed her to wait until the last second to withdraw. Rey holds out forever, only blinking when his eyes flutter closed. Rolling over on her side, spent. 

Not hurting but full of pity. Shocked that he can't recognize his own healing power. She barely had to expend any energy, just tell his soul they shared a dumb joke. 

_Remember, know thyself? Fuck thyself._

It was easy after that, effortless. Kylo was comforted in an instant. 

Maybe it’s her power.

  
\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw: mentions of blood/abuse


	6. sugar ants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warnings in the notes below, please read if you're unsure.

She's in the kitchen when he wakes up.

The sheet unravels, falls to the floor as Kylo walks. He ends his journey beside her, naked. Save for the necklace over his breastbone. 

Rey was cutting strawberries. Taking the knife, she traces the lines of his chest. He stands perfectly still for her, head bent. Each touch of the blade punctuated by an outrush of breath.

“Hi,” she says. “Sunny today.”

Prisms of light pattern the wall, then Kylo’s face when he drags a chair to the window. Basking in it, waiting patiently to be fed. 

During the monthly seminar, after more than a few shots, Rey was finally able to speak up. _What do aliens prefer to eat?_

The answer was sweets. Fruit and cake and syrup.

It reminded her of extermination, how years ago she figured out the store was overrun by sugar ants. Such a funny concept, bugs with preferences. It made her want to keep them around.

Same with the alien. She just wants to lure Kylo into coming back, begging for more.

She plies him first with a heavy plate of strawberries and cream, served on a bed of cupcakes slathered in icing and honey.

He looks down at it stricken, eyes welling. Taken apart by the gesture.

“Just eat,” Rey tells him. “There’s more.”

\---

She makes good on her promise.

Pouring honey straight from the container into his mouth, spilling some on his throat, his pecs and lap. 

Rey uses the excuse of politeness to wipe it off, getting on her knees in front of the table. Apologizing profusely for the mess. Caressing his thighs with a wet rag, examining the hair there. 

His cock smells like her vanilla body butter.

“Thank you,” he says tightly. 

Or maybe it’s a thought, an emotion. Repeated, lingering between them like a new beginning. 

“You’re welcome,” Rey says.

\---

It’s not all roses. 

They lack a plan for how to proceed. Kylo was forced to abandon his documentation, his only change of pants. 

She thinks sadly of the copy of  A Walk to Remember, how it means more than ever. Lost, gone forever. Moldering, hidden in Snoke’s mansion as it collapses.

Except he leads her to a metal box at the base of a fir tree, deep in the woods behind the store. It’s concealed by a fairy garden made from thrift store knick knacks, all stolen. She can tell by looking at the price tags on the bottom.

Rey sits cross legged in the soft needles, letting him show her each item in time. Staring covertly at the broken terra cotta pots turned into mountains, at the basil and rosemary he’s tended to impressive height. 

“You can take from the garden,” he says, catching her soft, involuntary nuzzle into the marigolds. “Even if you just want flowers, Rey.”

“I’m alright.” Then, like she hasn’t spoken in ages- “It’s more special to leave them here. In the sun between the trees. Color and light and shadow.”

“Okay. I think so, too.” He hands her the book, the dreamcatcher and faded napkin. “Those are yours. Here’s mine-”

From the box he produces a single book of matches. The box is waterlogged, unable to strike. 

She turns it over and over in a palm, reverent, bringing it to her lips.

Kissing the lonely swan on the package. Thinking, _everything you touch is_ _attached to you._

“Where’s it from?”

“The packet of an MRE. They gave us each one when we left the ship. We were so happy to be on Earth, so curious. I couldn’t speak yet, I only knew touch. I kept trying to hug people through the hazmat, to tell them my name.

Then they tased me. 

And I knew there were no more meals coming. The matchbook was the only thing I couldn’t eat.”

“But it’s empty.”

Kylo swallows hard. 

“They kept us in solitary confinement. Every time it got too much to take, I lit one.” 

Rey knows the scars. She figured he contracted smallpox, like most of the aliens, and wasn’t warned not to itch. Never that the burns were self-inflicted, reflective of a different sickness.

“Don’t hate me,” he says.

In response, Rey takes his gloved hand. Showing him how she squeezes her bad ankle for clarity, when the world outside is too much. 

Once he realizes, Kylo pulls away. Vindicated, yet still not wanting to hurt her.

Rey falls back on the needles, exhausted, trying not to cry. When she wakes there are wildflowers. Bluebells covering her swollen foot, woven in a chain. Kylo rests next to his work, eyes drowsing closed. 

"Do you miss it?" she asks.

“I like Earth better than home,” he says. “I always did. That’s why it hurts so much not to be welcome here.”

As he talks, describing a barren, snowy planet, Rey drapes the bluebells over his chest, his hair. Then her own. Offering Kylo the other end of the chain. 

“Bare hands,” she whispers. 

\---

Rey makes it known with every fiber. How she's resolute, loyal to the task of giving him a sanctuary, a place he’s never had to rest.

In return he brings Rey flashbulb memories. Of her laugh, her fingers on the knife. 

Thinking eternally, _do you see yourself? you’re home._

\---

“No, no, and no. _Cloverfield_ will make you puke, _Edge of Tomorrow_ is a gimmick. _IT_ is a horror movie with 'alien' shoehorned in.”

“Then what can I watch?” 

Rey sighs, sitting down next to him on the mattress. Stalling, playing with the threads of his silk opera gloves. They were a gag gift, a joke. Only Kylo won’t take them off.

“Whatever you want. I’m just asking you not to self-flagellate. Why don’t you like nice alien movies, like _Lilo and Stitch_?”

“He’s a dog, Rey.”

“Fine, what about _Star Trek_? There are pretty alien women.”

That gets his attention. Rey still indulges him with copious amounts of sugar, candies and chocolate and donuts. Today she throws a box of Hot Tamales on the bed. 

“Smells like you,” she tells him.

This time he shares, dumping a handful into her palm. Watching rapt as she inhales, then eats the entire pile at once, mouth burning.

“Demon,” he says. “Freak.”

Rey laughs. Not just at his petty insults but the way his lip quirks, riveted every time Spock comes on screen. 

“You like him, huh?” 

_He's_ _over polite, too_ _,_ she thinks. _And so far from his mother._

Emotionally Kylo's wide open. It’s been that way for weeks, no defenses between them. It’s not as good as eye contact, but Rey can tell when he’s excited.

She feels it tangibly when he asks to get naked, claiming to be hot. Standing, Rey goes to adjust the A/C.

Smiling innocently back at Kylo, playing dumb. Enjoying how his breath hitches, knuckles fisting the duvet.

She only pretends to fiddle with the dials before sitting back down, saying, “I guess you’ll have to.”

Trembling, he takes off his tank top, shorts, and boxers. All brand new, picked out of a human Big & Tall catalog. The thought alone gives Rey dirty fucking nightmares.

She’s pent up enough that it seems like a good idea. To circle her hips, brushing his drooling cock. Once, twice in direct succession.

Not an accident.

“Don’t be a tease.” 

“We can always have sex, if it’s that important to you.”

Rey’s testing the water. Except Kylo wasn’t born yesterday, not like before. She curses incognito tabs and how she forgets to open them.

“With a plastic dick?”

“Why not?” She pauses the movie. “Do you at least want to look?”

He hides in her shirt while they browse. Eventually, under duress, he picks out a nondescript, neutral-toned one.

“That’s a strap-on, Kylo.”

“I want to wear it.” His voice is small, barely above a whisper. It seizes on Rey that he’s mortally ashamed of his biology, eager to circumvent it.

Somewhere, in another reality, Rey takes his cheek in her palm. She kisses his bitten lips. She looks into his warm eyes and affirms the soft, hesitant desire there. They make love.

Except this is here, now. They’re broke, stuck in a nothing town under a black sky of summer rain. 

Rey selects one-click order, going back to the movie. 

“Will you rub on me?” she asks, eyes swimming with tears. Centering herself by focusing on the drag of his cock against her ass, her worn out, cutoff shorts. 

His erection's overpowering, hot and relentless. Rey closes her eyes, reaches between her legs and asks-

“Permission to touch?” as calmly as possible.

Though he nods in a second, Rey waits until she’s close, heart pounding. Pressing her fingertips into the naked skin of his hip. 

Forcing her orgasm on Kylo until he moans, biting the back of his hand. His cock pulses against her thigh but doesn’t jump or leak.

He doesn't cum.

Yet she feels his shared pleasure. Undiminished, identical to the relief rushing through Rey’s veins, her belly and chest. 

After he’s shaky, restless. Smiling into her shirt every few seconds, trying to hide it.

“Express yourself,” she tells him. “Let it out.”

He goes to the south-facing window, the one without the A/C unit, and opens it on the howling rain. Leaning into the spray until he’s soaked.

Shouting wordlessly, laughing as Rey drags him back to bed. 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> massive warning for past self harm, it's not that graphic (to me) but PLEASE take note.


	7. the golden record

_Rey’s sunbathing, smiling at him through golden lashes. Beckoning Kylo to come closer, offering to stroke his thighs, to kiss the scars on his stomach. She’s where he runs to. Imagining her lips pressed to all the places they can’t touch, her tongue on his neck in the shade-_

He still expects to wake up in the basement. 

Not to the sound of Rey moving around in the kitchen, shining a sliver of light on the mattress. 

When it’s too hot to cook she walks to the pharmacy for dinner. Bringing back Klondike bars, premade milkshakes and cherry Slurpees. Icy cans of Coke she presses to Kylo’s bare neck, eliciting his soft whimper, his laugh.

He fell asleep hours ago in her arms, before the thunderstorm started. Hearing her approach he lies back down to pretend. Trying not to shudder at the lightning, though it’s still too bright behind his eyelids, vivid and strange.

The mattress dips as Rey moves, resting a palm on his erection, stroking it through the sheet. 

Kylo groans, hips lifting to her touch. Cracking his eyelids to see her lips on the outline of his cock, staring at it freely, possessed.

She’s soaked from the rain, hair dripping on the duvet. Spread flat on the floor next to the bed, dress bunched around her stomach, hands between her legs.

Rey uses Kylo’s name to wake him. The secret one that’s just a tilt and brush of contact, forming the gesture with her mouth like an alien.

Or like a soulmate, bent on destroying his nerve. 

She makes the sign once, twice on his thigh with her tongue. Asking gently, like he’s still asleep-

“Is this a good dream?”

Kylo nods so hard his teeth collide. 

Rey laughs but it’s sharp, perilously close to tears. Like she’s choking on the words, pressing the heel of her palm to her clit to get them out.

“You showed me your dream last night. We must have touched somehow.” 

Shame makes it hard to breathe, to squeeze his eyes shut when all he wants is to stare. 

He knows without asking that Rey saw everything.

It’s palpable in the hungry way she moves. Squeezing his cock like china she’s hellbent on shattering, cramming it between her teeth, painting her lips with it. Giving his thighs long, warm licks that turn into curses, dirty words he taught her on a whim. 

“Was it...a good dream?” he asks, struggling for the phrase.

“I don’t know,” she says. “Do you always fuck me like that?”

Kylo wets his cracked lips. Tries to explain by saying, “Sometimes.”

“Do you want to know the best part?” she asks. 

Tickling the pads of his feet until he fights to sit up, breathless with laughter. Making it only to fall back on the pillows, overcome by the sight of Rey’s wet body under the fairy lights, tits pulled out of her dress. 

He goes still, watching Rey fuck herself with three fingers, then four, biting down on his hip to keep from coming. Mouthing at the hair between his legs, inhaling its scent hard through the sheet. 

Admitting at last, "You taste as good as you smell.”

Kylo goes to pieces, unceremoniously losing control. Whimpering, clawing at the mattress. Powerless to keep from squirting in Rey’s mouth. So much at once it spills down her neck, dripping from her chin, her nipples.

He watches frozen, hands shaking. Feeling so gross. Horrified at what he’s done until Rey swallows, sucking him through the sheet. 

It feels better than anything before. Like he was misunderstood in every conversation, by everyone, and this is what it is to be known.

Rey won't stop. She plays with his hands, his nipples endlessly through the fabric. Making a game of taking him apart, embarrassing Kylo by setting a record. He's never squirt so much without crying, without feeling bitter or empty afterwards.

“It’s an anaesthetic,” he says. “You don’t want to drink too much, you’ll fall asleep.”

He pulls away slowly, chest aching. Rey has tears in her eyes. Licking the back of her hand, scraping the surface of her chest for more.

After he expects her to be drowsy, to want to nap in the mess.

Except Rey’s wired. Crawling forward, grinding her cunt on him through the ruined sheet. Covering his face with it so she can kiss his lips, caress his forehead and throat as she comes. 

Whispering nonsense words by touch, signing _beautiful_ over and over on his body. Using it to mark him because Kylo taught her it meant _Rey._

In the dark of the covers Kylo closes his eyes, feeling for emotions first.

Brushing the outline of Rey’s tits, taking hold of her waist. Dragging her against his cock. Circling his hips, falling into an oblivion where there’s only Rey's voice, the ghost of her touch.

After she can’t stop laughing. Stealing and stealing glances until he says-

“That good?”

“I’m high on your cum. This is heaven.”

\---

That night he finally puts the book back.

The one that ran Kylo through the woods to the remains of a memory, chased over and over. To teenage Rey, caught out of time. Whispering to herself, _it’s alright, baby. I’ve got you._ Stroking her own cheek, the end of her braid. 

So brave it made him falter mid-sentence, garbling his words. Staring from the sales floor up at Rey. Crushed by how casually she took the guide from him, reading the title back with perfect clarity. _Healing_ _Mantras._

Telling him it was on final clearance, that she might throw the battered copy out. 

After, he poured over the pages for hours. Eventually picking out his own words separate from Rey's.

In the dark he peels off the price tag by flashlight, setting the book on the House Recommendations shelf. Hoping she'll notice and smile. 

Thinking, _you're good. you're enough._

\---

It was a lie to say that aliens fed each other, back home. Only soulmates did, and even that he’s never seen. On the ship they didn’t have the same rituals. It was dark inside, dank and cold. No one wanted to mate. 

So it’s insane the pleasure he gets from eating out of Rey’s hand. His cock stands so hard it pokes his stomach, sitting on the edge of the chair she defiled. Any further and he won’t be able to stop himself from coming, or getting down on the floor to beg.

On the table are fourteen varieties of honey and agave. Rey insisted on reciting the benefits of each one, making him pick favorites.

“Buckwheat is prized for wound healing-”

“That one,” he says hoarsely. "I'm sure."

Rey cracks the jar, needing no further endorsement. Getting her glove sticky, filthy in the syrup. Clawing out a handful so large it runs in ribbons through her fingers, painting the surface of the table. 

Quickly, like she might not be paying attention, Kylo leans forward to lick it up. Locking eyes on her bare tits, taking out his intentions on the wood. He doesn’t stop until his chin and lips are shiny, coated with sugar.

“Don’t tempt me,” she says, refusing to elaborate. 

Between them Rey feels feverish, thoughts faraway and untenable. It adds a layer of complexity to the sweetness. Kylo sucks until he gags on her fingers, tasting salt on the nitrile from her sweat. His tongue aches from chasing it.

“Did you watch couples do this, when you were younger? Was it something to hold onto-”

“There were no couples growing up. No anniversaries and no gifts. By the time I came around, it wasn’t part of our culture.”

“What was?”

“Survival. Looking at pictures of Earth.”

“What pictures?” she asks. 

“It was nothing, just a silly obsession.”

Rey takes his chin, forcing Kylo to look in her direction. Pressing hard until he relents, rubbing his cock on a leg of the table. Buzzing like static inside, finally meeting her eyes.

_All they had on the ship was the Golden Record. As a teenager he huddled over copies of it in a corner, hopeless, desperate not to get caught. He knows each one by heart. The breastfeeding mother. The woman eating grapes. The doctor’s pretty hand next to its x-ray. The biologist’s dangly earrings. Image 64, the dancer from Bali-_

Rey sits back abruptly, staring silent out the window.

There’s no sun for the crystals to catch, no prisms of light. Outside it’s just the same dark, glowering rain as yesterday.

Still, her eyes move over an invisible rack of constellations, searching for Kylo’s planet, 852-B.

She said it used to be behind Andromeda.

Kylo tries to apologize, to take it all back as a misunderstanding. Rey stills him by kissing his gloves, pointing to a box in the corner of the room.

“What we ordered...it came today.”

\---

“You’re upset that I said no.”

“It's just that I'm fine,” Rey says, looking hard into his eyes. “I can take it. I won’t project on you. See?” 

She's right. They're stronger now, more adept at pulling back.

“But that doesn’t make it legal.”

Rey pushes out of her chair, falling to her knees in front of him.

Gingerly parting Kylo's legs to touch his swollen cock. Massaging it against her palm, rolling it in sticky, juicy fingers. Mimicking her cunt as best she can from memory, how she feels in the throes. Squeezing hard until he whimpers, shuffling closer.

The chair screeches as he moves and they both jump. After a moment Kylo looks shyly away, fighting the urge to apologize. She feels his agony, how hard he's trying to mature beyond the trauma.

“Have you ever wondered why sex is forbidden, but not living together or 'hosting'? It's because they don’t want us to heal each other.”

_Each other._

His throat goes tight. She can’t be serious. 

"If I have you," she says, "I don't need alcohol. I don't have to choose between an operation I can't pay for and being crippled at forty. No one can sell me a cure if I'm not sick." 

"Rey-"

"And nobody can bully you if you understand your power."

It's one of her challenges Kylo isn't sure he can rise to.

Except he has to try. There's no other way when Rey's staring up at him, telegraphing how her life was barren before. As awful as never seeing the sun on a dead, snowy planet. As bad as looking at slides of trees and beaches, trapped in the hull of a warship. 

It occurs to him that he has no idea what Rey suffered. He's only ever experienced it through the tail end of nightmares, in wordless shouts and the jerky, unnerving sense of falling. 

“Tomorrow,” he promises. 

She leans closer, ready to negotiate before he touches her cheek, amending-

“Tonight, then. But let me make it special."

\---


End file.
